Neville followed Harry, Ron and the other Gryffindor boys down to their flying lesson in the school grounds, clutching his bag nervously. He hated flying. Heights scared him ever since his great-uncle Algie had dropped him out of the window. Now, whenever he looked down out of any window higher than a second storey he felt sick and since to like flying you pretty much needed to like heights... Neville swallowed nervously and hurried after the group of boys who had drawn slightly ahead.
Desperate for something that might help him he tried to remember what Hermione had said to him earlier about staying on his broom. What had she said? Over time brooms develop a sort of personality. Don't let the broom know that you're scared, they're much like dogs and know when you don't like them. This could lead to anything at all, depending on whether the broom is feeling kind or mischievous. Neville gulped. That was easier said than done - don't let the broom know you're scared. How did you do that? In the back of his brain something his Gran had given him to help with this hovered, just out of his reach...
All of the Gryffindors had arrived by now, as had the Slytherins. They stood around 20 worn looking brooms chattering excitedly. Most were boasting about their flying skills to friends but Neville was pleased to see that Harry wasn't and Hermione was looking just as pale as he knew himself to be. Maybe he wasn't the only one to fear heights. A note. That was it. Gran had given him a note for something. For...what?
"Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." Neville moved to stand next to a broomstick at the end, next to Hermione. It was battered and seemed to be missing half of its twigs but it didn't at that moment seem to be looking mischievous. Neville crossed his fingers and hoped. Don't let the broom know that you're scared. Don't let the broom know that you're scared. He repeated to himself. Don't let the broom know that you're scared.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom, and say, 'Up'."
"Up" quavered Neville desperately hoping that the broom would stay on the floor and that he wouldn't have to actually fly. "Up." The broom continued to ignore him and just lay on the floor. Giving up, he waited until Madame Hooch had turned her back and picked it up quickly. Hermione, whose broom also hadn't done anything, copied him.
Madame Hooch then showed the class how to mount their brooms. Neville wasn't convinced that he fully understood but, too scared to do anything except grip the broom handle so hard his knuckles turned white, said nothing and just hoped.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – one – two –" but Neville, by now absolutely terrified, kicked off early and found himself rising into the air.
"Come back, boy" shouted Madame Hooch but Neville's brain, clouded by fear, refused to work. How did you go down? He tried to point the broom handle down but found himself rising higher and higher into the air. He tried again but felt his grip slipping off the broom handle and he couldn't remember what he was meant to do and he was about to fall and - wham. Neville's grip on his broom handle failed and he fell to the ground some twenty feet below him.
Pain lanced up his arm from his wrist as he gathered his wits, then he was conscious of Madame Hooch bending over his wrist and inspecting it.
"Broken wrist." She muttered, half to him and half to herself. Behind her he could just see Hermione jumping up and down, checking that he was still alive.
"Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get," said Madame Hooch as she helped him to his feet. "None of you is to move whilst I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch. Come on dear." She put her arm around Neville and helped him hobble towards the castle.
The only thing that Neville really remembered from the journey to the hospital wing was the blinding pain coming from his wrist. What seemed to be hours later they arrived and Madame Hooch, after seating him on a neatly made bed, hurried off to find Madam Pomfrey. Neville sat there, then realising that he had his bag on his shoulder dumped it on the floor where it fell over, spilling some of its contents. He just looked at it, thinking that really he should pick it up when Madame Hooch returned with Madam Pomfrey.
"Broken wrist," explained Madame Hooch, "he fell from a broom."
Madam Pomfrey nodded and inspected the wrist. She then pointed her wand at t and said: "episkey". Neville's wrist twinged slightly and he gasped but next moment it had stopped hurting completely. He flexed it and it worked perfectly.
"Thank you" he said gratefully and Madam Pomfrey smiled.
"Well, if that's all I had better get back to my class," said Madame Hooch briskly, "before they try anything stupid." Turning to Neville she said: "you had better stay off broomsticks for a while, until you can learn how to handle a broom properly." She then left Neville and Madame Hooch and headed off back to her first year class.
"I wouldn't use the wrist for too long at a time for a week or so – give it a few days to fully heal." Madame Pomfrey put her wand back in her apron pocket. "You might as well go down early to tea, "she added and then went back into her office leaving Neville to collect his things.
Stooping down he collected the quill and the wrapping paper that had fallen onto the floor. Smoothing the paper out he saw that it contained a note from his Gran, two notes in fact which he had forgotten to read. One was addressed and said:
Dear Neville,
Algie reminded me that you will shortly be having flying lessons. I have enclosed a note with the Remembrall for you to give to Madame Hooch. Please don't forget!
Gran.
Neville unfolded the second piece of parchment and read through it. It was a note asking Madame Hooch to excuse Neville from flying lessons!
